Not quite Hells Angels
by Arches67
Summary: "[…] on the back of a speeding motorcycle. Which was exhilarating by the way. I might have to get myself one." Finch; 210 – Shadow box


**Not quite Hells angels…**

"[…] on the back of a speeding motorcycle. Which was exhilarating by the way. I might have to get myself one." Finch_; 210 – Shadow box_

That comment and the _look_ Reese gives him. Always thought I needed to do something with that… Silly little thing.

As usual, English is still not my native language, so please forgive any error. Thank you to The Fictionist Aura for the beta reading. Any mistake left is mine.

* * *

"Mr. Reese, I appreciate your concern, but you are now hovering and your hands are close to taking liberties I might frown upon under other circumstances."

John froze, realizing his hands were indeed quite close to Finch's groin. He moved back a little, giving his employer some space.

"Finch, are you hurt?"

"I believe I will be bruised tomorrow, but I am otherwise uninjured."

"You're sure? That was quite an impressive fall."

"Mr. Reese, I am fully capable of correctly estimating the level of pain I am experiencing. I can assure you, I have no serious injury. The worst right now is my posterior freezing in cold water..." Reese made a move, "… and you do not need to check that part of my anatomy."

Reese let a small smile grace his lips and stood up extending his hands to help Finch get up from the ground.

The shorter man stood up slowly holding his employee's strong arms while he regained his balance, and made sure that his feet could indeed support his weight. He let go of the arms and took a tentative step. He would probably feel the fall tomorrow, but nothing serious. Mostly bruises, maybe some road rash.

"What happened exactly?" Finch asked, wondering how he had ended up in a pile of half melted snow.

"Black ice," John replied with a wince. "I'm sorry, Harold, I didn't realize the weather was less than ideal to take you on your first motorbike ride."

The two men looked at the bike lying on the ground. Reese's Triumph was parked a few feet away.

"You think it is salvageable?" Finch asked.

"I'll check."

Reese went to the bike and pulled it up. He smoothly got in and kick started the engine. It revved on the first try, having apparently not suffered from the fall. Finch saw him drive away swerving and braking in a way that seemed quite dangerous, but he assumed John wanted to make sure the bike was still fully functional.

He shook his head slowly. The day had started so peacefully…

* * *

Finch was sitting in front of his computer as usual. The Machine had not given them any new numbers; he was enjoying the free time to work on some new coding he had been thinking about for a few days, but hadn't had a chance to transcribe.

Bear lifted an ear and got up eagerly, running to the door. Finch didn't need to raise his head to know who was coming in.

"Good morning Mr. Reese."

"Good morning, Finch."

"I believe I sent you a text to let you know we didn't have a new number. Enjoy the free time, it's not that often we get a break."

Finch turned to the ex-agent and was surprised to see him empty handed. Reese usually brought them their morning drinks.

"Yes, I got it. Finch, would you accompany me to the parking garage?"

Harold raised a surprised eyebrow. Reese seldom asked him anything, and he couldn't begin to guess why he would need him in the parking garage.

"Yes, of course. Give me a minute to save this data."

The minute turned out to be more like five, but he soon was up, gathering his coat and following Reese to the door. Bear followed the two men, but John stopped him.

"Bear, stay."

The dog obediently sat with a little whine, probably wanting to go for a walk. He seemed to sense that the two men were not stressed by a case, which usually meant more time with him.

They took the stairs down to the garage where they parked their cars and occasionally John's motorbike. The entrance was on the other side of the block which allowed for more security. Not that the door leading to the Library could be easily opened.

Reese took Finch to a brand new motorbike.

"I didn't forget your telling me that you wanted to get a motorbike a few weeks back. I'm sorry it took me so long. I've been a bit… busy," Reese finished in a lower voice than usual.

Finch couldn't help turning to him stiffly. _Busy_, quite the understatement of the year.

Harold perfectly remembered his exhilarating ride which had prompted his comment, actually made still while high on adrenaline, and as such probably not meant to be taken to the letter.

The following days had been amongst the worst of his life. Reese in jail, questioned, beaten up by the guys he had sent there, being strapped to a bomb vest before almost blowing up to bits on a rooftop… that did not begin to define "busy" in Finch's agenda.

"This one is for you. The model should be easy on your leg." Reese explained with a little smile, as if suddenly shy and unsure how Finch would react to the gift.

He moved away and came back with a jacket and a pair of gloves.

"You will be needing these. Your coat won't be comfortable."

Finch looked at the jacket, then back to the motorbike. A helmet was attached to the steering. He still hadn't uttered a word.

"Finch?" Reese asked softly, a bit worried by Harold's silence.

"Thank you, Mr. Reese" Finch answered almost in reflex, still trying to make sense of the situation.

"Here, give me your coat. Put this on," John said handing him the jacket.

"You want us to go on a ride now?"

"No time like the present," Reese answered with a smile. "You did say the Machine didn't give us a number."

"Of course," Finch mumbled as he unbuttoned his coat.

He put the jacket on, which unsurprisingly fit him perfectly and was both warm and comfortable.

"I'll get you outside, the ramp up can be tricky, then we'll go over the basics."

"What about you?"

Finch couldn't help thinking back to his first bike ride. His father running by his side, helping him get his balance. Reese raised an amused eyebrow as if he had guessed Finch's thoughts.

"My motorbike is already parked outside."

Finch sat in the back of the seat and let John drive them to the street. There in measured tones, he explained how to drive the motorcycle.

The rush of traffic didn't allow for much speed which gave Finch plenty of time to get used to using the brake and steering. After a while they left the city behind, heading towards the north.

The weather was cold. The snow, fallen a few days before, had turned to black mush on the sides of the roads. Finch was following Reese, getting more and more confident, starting to enjoy the ride and the feeling of the speed. He remembered now why he had told John he would like to get a motorcycle, it was indeed quite exhilarating.

They went over a bridge and he never knew what happened. One moment he was enjoying the wind on his face, the following he was crashing in a pile of snow. Mere seconds later, Reese's hands were all over his body checking him for injuries.

* * *

Reese came to a screeching stop by his side.

"I guess luck is on our side. Nothing broken, just some paint scraped." He turned the engine off and stepped off the bike. "You are sure you're okay Finch?" Reese asked again, then nodded when Finch shot him a reproachful glance.

"Let's go then."

They resumed their ride. After a few miles, Finch called Reese.

"Mr. Reese?"

"Finch, keep your hands on the steering!" Reese all but barked.

Finch sighed in annoyance. "That's the purpose of ear wigs, Mr. Reese."

The only reply was a slight grunt.

"Mr. Reese, this is not the direction to the Library. I think I mentioned my clothes had gotten wet during the fall."

_More along the lines of your butt being soaked_, Reese thought. But of course, Finch wouldn't mention it that way.

"I remember, Finch."

As if on clue, Reese turned to the right towards the back of a bar. Dozens of motorcycles were parked.

_A bikers' bar?_ Finch mouthed silently. Reese was taking this thing a step too far.

John shut his engine off, dismounted and removed his helmet. He had a small amused smile on his lips. He could feel Finch radiating waves of worry.

Harold followed him grudgingly as John opened the door of the bar. He had never actually entered a bikers' bar, so his knowledge of this kind of place was only the one he had acquired through TV and movies. He stopped short by the door. This wasn't what he was expecting.

Instead of a brawling place full of hairy giants with tattoos ─though there were some─, the bar was actually quite cozy. People sitting around small tables drinking beer, a quiet game of darts at the end of the room and the most surprising of all, a huge fireplace with a bright fire going on.

Seeing him frozen in place, Reese took his elbow and steered him towards the fireplace.

"Get warm while I get us some drinks."

Finch didn't need to be told twice, turning his back to the fire to dry his clothes and warm his body. The heat felt wonderful.

Reese came back with two beers and they sat by the table closest to the chimney.

"I'm afraid they don't have Sencha green tea here," he said as he put the glasses on the table.

"I'm not sure drinking and driving is a safe combination."

"It's just a beer Finch, relax."

They enjoyed their drinks in comfortable silence.

John excused himself to go to the men's room. Finch kept nursing his beer and watching the bikers. This was clearly not what he would have expected. On the other hand, he was pretty sure this was not the most common type of bars, and probably why Reese had brought him here in the first place. A brawl was the last thing they wanted on their hands.

"That's my chair," a deep voice said.

Lost in his thoughts, Finch jumped slightly in surprise.

"I beg your pardon?"

"That's my seat, get out."

Finch blinked. So much for this being different from his idea of a bikers' bar. While he definitely didn't want to upset the giant facing him, this table was the closest one to the fire and he was still a bit chilly.

"I believe there are plenty of available seats."

"Get_ out_," the giant growled, bending over Finch, putting his wide hand flat on the table.

Harold flinched as the huge body invaded his space. This was exactly why he had never set foot in this kind of place. This could only turn ugly very quickly.

"I think my friend wants to stay there," a low soft voice said.

Reese had suddenly appeared and the look on his face didn't bode well for the biker. Reacting with more muscle than brains, the giant turned around throwing his fist. He only found empty air, as John had anticipated the move and had stepped away.

The biker froze for a second, probably surprised by the unexpected reaction and the look of the stranger. The friend didn't have anything in common with the English looking wuss. He sent the tall man a feral grimace; they really let anyone in this bar lately.

With a growl, he barreled at the lean man, heading for his stomach with his head. John stepped aside again and joined his hand to hit the man in the neck as he went by his side. The giant fell to the floor, stopping his fall with his hands. He turned his head to watch Reese with squinted eyes.

Finch winced in annoyance. From the look the biker was sending John, he was going to retaliate. What was it with bikers and brawls?

John hadn't moved, waiting for his opponent's next move. He was all muscles; his punches would probably hurt if they connected. But he didn't intend to let him reach him. The biker was getting angrier by the minute, he would be messy and all rage, no technique. As expected, he rose from the floor and with a yell went at Reese again. John didn't have time nor wanted to play. This time he threw his punches, one to the stomach, the other to the man's chin. The giant collapsed on the table crushing it to bits, with Finch having just the time to jump from his chair.

The giant shook his head slightly stunned. His hand reached for a piece of wood.

"You don't want to do that," John silently explained.

Getting to his feet, the biker leveled the pointy slice of wood as a knife. Reese shook his head in reproach. He didn't really want to hurt the man. He was just plain stupid, not dangerous. But apparently he wouldn't quit. He waited for the lunge and easily grabbed the hand, pulling it to the man's back painfully. He twisted the hand until it opened and let the improvised weapon fall.

"Are we done?" Reese asked softly.

With a new roar that clearly said no, the giant punched Reese with his free elbow.

"Guess not…" John whispered with a slight wince at the pain in his ribs.

With a sharp move, he pulled the arm higher, giving a satisfied nod when he heard the crunching sound indicating the shoulder had given up. The biker screamed, his left hand going to his arm to brace it. Reese let go of the hand, stepping backwards, then took a second surprised step back as the giant turned against him. John raised an eyebrow. What was that guy made of? As the biker barreled on him again, the ex-agent threw a punch to the man's temple, throwing him to the floor then grabbed a chair and crushed it on his head. Stunned, the biker finally stopped moving.

John looked at the piece of chair still in hands, as if almost surprised, and threw it on the body. He exhaled deeply and turned to Finch.

His employer had moved further back and was looking at him as if at a loss to what to think or say.

"You okay Finch?" he asked.

Harold opened his eyes wide. "If _I_ am okay? I'm not the one who went two rounds against the Hulk…"

Reese had a small smile. "Not really, more muscle than brains."

He looked around him. The patrons hadn't moved from their chairs, going back to their drinks now that the show was over.

"Maybe you were right about the beer not being a good idea. Let's find you some tea," Reese said as he handed Finch his jacket.

He went to the bar, pulling his wallet, intending to pay for the drinks and damage.

The barman waved him off. "It's on the house. I was about time someone showed Kurt a lesson. Ride safe."

Reese nodded his thanks and left the subdued bar.

Finch and Reese got on their bikes and took the road back to the city, riding side by side.

"Mr. Reese?"

"Yes, Finch."

"Next time we go on a ride, I'm choosing where we stop for a drink."

* * *

The end

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